Hunted
by DonSterling01
Summary: A UNSC Marine Lieutenant is cut-off behind Covenant lines. Now, they must lead their shattered, exhausted platoon through enemy territory to a last chance rendezvous and escape. But the platoon doesn't know only their Lieutenant is to be evacuated safely - everyone else is a secondary, expendable objective.


Hunted

You know when you're being hunted. The Covenant had hounded us for nearly a hundred kilometers through the shattered land scape that used to be New Harmony. It was beautiful once, before the war, lush and vibrant. Now all that's left is a wasteland of glass dotted with the twisted metal carcasses of cities. I tried to remember the color of the sky. It had been so blue, so much like earth. That sky is gone now; turned to haunted orange, the glow of a million dying fires reflected in towering clouds of ash. My command wasn't much to look at. A few ragged survivors lucky enough to be in the right place when the Covenant started glassing the planet.

Those first two days after the bombardment were a nightmare of fire and ash as the city burned around us. I'd hunkered down in the basement of a makeshift command center along with Colonel Harkin and a few other staff officers, all that was left of the planetary command. We had evacuated nearly two thirds of the planet's surviving population before the Covenant bombardment kicked off. As far as these things go that was good showing, we'd given as good as we'd got, maybe even a little better. But there were just too many ships, too many troops. Out manned and out gunned as always.

I don't know what we found more surprising after the bombardment, that we were still breathing or that we still had a functioning com array. On the third day we made contact with scattered survivors around the city. By the fourth we had scavenged enough functioning vehicles to move us out of the city. All we needed was a place to run. On the fifth day the destination arrived. A single coded burst with a set of coordinates just over 100 kilometers north of the city. The message ended in a name, S-052. A Spartan was inbound; we had our exit.

I'd never given myself great odds for survival. After fifteen years of war the average rate of survival for UNSC officers in engagements with the Covenant stood at a sobering 66%. Anytime you saw the Covenant there was a one in three chance you wouldn't live to talk about it. New Harmony was my third engagement, and it looked to be my last. But as our ragged convoy inched out of the rubble of New Dunsmere the sky was clear of Covenant search parties. No Covenant ground personnel lurked in the ruins. It seemed like we were clear. I began to give in to that most dangerous of emotions, I started to hope.

That all ended 10 kilometers outside the city. I heard the howl of the first Phantom just before 'Contact!' sounded over the radio in a burst of static and fear. By the end of that first engagement half of us were dead or dying, and things only went from bad to worse. Fifty klicks from our retrieval point we got jumped by Banshees. We chased the Banshees away for the loss of a single Warthog. Colonel Harkin's Warthog. We reached the mountains just before nightfall. We hoped they would keep us safe from Covenant air attacks. The air attacks stopped. The mountains might have been perfect, had the passes not been full of Covenant snipers. It took most of the night before we made it to the last pass. I was standing beside our newest commanding officer when the round from a needle rifle went through his skull. Warm blood sprayed my face, staining my helmet in a ghoulish display.

I could see the sun rising, its light diffused through an ash choked sky. Thirteen kilometers from our hole up site to the rendezvous point, thirteen kilometers over open ground. What was left of our force, 16 haggard and worn faces stared at their new commanding officer through glassy, blood shot eyes. They were staring at me, and I didn't have a plan. Thirteen klicks over open ground, no air cover, a trio of shot up Warthogs, only one with a working turret, all with a command made up of two infantry privates fresh from boot, three personalists, a com technician, and a crew of motor pool mechanics. It was a suicide run.

We decided to wait for night fall. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But as I lay here listening to the sound of the hunt, I can't help but wonder if we should have risked the Phantoms and Banshees. I'd rather get vaporized by a plasma bolt than get shredded by a fifteen foot tall mound of worms in a suit of tank armor.

From what we can hear there must be at least two pairs of Hunters, maybe three, within a few hundred meters of our position. "LT they're getting close, 200 meters out at most." Private Ramirez is crouched to my left sharing a piece of cover behind a rocky outcropping. My eyes strain against the darkness. We ran out of batteries on our slog through the mountains, no more night vision, no motion tracking. Just our mark one eyeballs peering through the darkness.

"Alright," I whisper through clenched teeth, "I want a slow withdrawal to the Hogs." My voice seems like a stranger's, distant and harsh. As soon as we run up the Warthogs the Hunters will be on us. If they're only 200 meters out we'll be in range for their fuel rods, one hit and we're all gone. "Disregard, Ramirez I want you and Colson to lay out whatever det charges we have left on your positions. Rig for remote detonation, I'll have the hammer. Pass the word down the line. When you're done fall back to the Hogs."

"Ooh rah." A smile creeps over Ramirez's face as he hands me the trigger. I wonder if he knows exactly what I plan to do. He and Colson are my only two trained infantryman, I'll hate losing them this early in our run to the rendezvous point, but they're the only two who know how to set the detonation packs. At least they'll take some Covies with them.

Silently we move back from our ragged line along a series of outcroppings that ring the Warthogs, hidden beneath sets of hastily drawn camouflage nets. We won't need them anymore. As the last Marine crawls into the Warthogs I spare a glance up to our former lines. Colson and Ramirez are out there. If I've timed things right it should take them a few more seconds to finish the wiring.

"Covenant contacts north, suppressive fire!" My shout caries through the night as eyes snap behind the Warthogs bringing weapons to bear. I don't wait. I open fire, my assault rifle kicks back into my shoulder. I'm joined by fire from other Marines, the one remaining turret roars to life spewing tracers into the darkness. Of course I can't see anything, but the Covies are out there and we need an excuse to get moving. I give the order, shouting over the din of gunfire to my driver. Without hesitation our driver as the ignition roars to life. I'm not sure if he knows that we're leaving two Marines alone back on the line, maybe he does and he just doesn't care. As our Warthog pulls away the first bolts of plasma find our position, those we can weather, the fuel rods from the Hunters, we can't.

A blast from a fuel rod passes just a few meters from us, turning our old parking spot into a smoking crater. We're all shouting now, calling out targets, screaming to get moving. As if that makes anyone move faster. Covie plasma is more than enough incentive to go quickly. The plasma is fearsome, but it makes spotting their positions easy.

I can see muzzle flashes in the darkness behind us. That's a good sign. If Ramirez and Colson are shooting back they must have finished with wiring the det packs. The Warthogs are racing away from them now, in the darkness distances are hard to judge, but we must be at least 200 meters now. I set my rifle to the side and pull out the detonation trigger. I can't see the muzzle flashes anymore, but the night is full of purple-blue plasma accented by the green of fuel rod fire. All of it is directed on two points in the night, Colson and Ramierez's last stand.

For a moment I hesitate on the trigger. Well, if it isn't me that kills them it will be the Covies in another few seconds. I pull the trigger and the night erupts into a fireball. I didn't realize we had that much explosive left. For a moment, the Covie fire dies down. Hopefully it was worth the lives of two Marines. It will take at least a minute before the Covies can call in support, another few minutes before the Phantoms can get here. Thirteen kilometers is a long way, and I don't know if our rendezvous is even here yet. My hand wanders to the pistol on my hip, one round sitting in the chamber, Plan B if I can't make this work.

I plug into the com terminal on the Warthog, it's now or never. "Any UNSC contact this is Rescue 1, 13 klicks out from rendezvous." My only reply is static, each second seems to last an eternity. Then finally, "Rescue 1 this is Sierra-052 we are one minute out from extraction point. What is your status?"

"Rescue 1 is green, 14 escorts in three Warthogs."

"Copy, Rescue 1 is priority, escorts are a secondary."

"Understood Sierra-052, Rescue 1 out."

I feel the wind rushing past my face. We're maxing out the Warthogs now, engines straining under the redlined RPMs. The air is unnaturally warm, a product of the Covenant's bombardment of the planet's surface. I scan the sky ahead of us, searching for any sign of our rescue. It's impossible to see through the night, vision obscured as it is through the ash and fog of the bombardment. With my eyes focused forward I don't see the plasma shot. There's a flash in the corner of my eye, by the time I snap my head around it's too late. One of my Warthogs is a fireball. It seems to come apart in sickly slow motion as burning pieces of machinery and men are scattered into the night. "God damnit Oboho get that turret on the Phantom or we're all fucked."

Oboho rakes the turret around and sends a stream of tracers into the Phantom. A gout of blue flame erupts from the nose of the ship, and it rears back like a wounded animal. "Liu, stay evasive, we're sitting ducks here."

"Ah shit LT, more contacts left side!" Oboho's call is clipped by the sound of his turret opening up on yet another Phantom, no two Phantoms arcing in towards our Warthogs. We don't have the firepower. Shit.

A Grunt stands in the door of the lead Phantom. I draw a bead on the ship and squeeze the trigger, feeling the pulse of the rifle against my shoulder. The Grunt explodes into a cloud of thick neon blue blood. I'm not sure if it's my bullets or one of the other Marines', it doesn't really matter. Still, one Grunt gone doesn't get rid of the two Phantoms bearing down on us. We need a miracle.

The Phantoms explode almost simultaneously, as a pair of missiles streak through the night into their sides. "Hell yeah baby!" Oboho's shout is overshadowed by the din of gunfire and the howl of jet motors as a pair of Longsword fighters flash by overhead.

"Rescue 1 this is Sierra-052 Longswords are on location for air support. We are 20 seconds from dust."

"Copy Sierra-052 we're 3 klicks out and closing."

"Unworkable Rescue 1."

"Say again Sierra-052. Confirm unworkable?"

"Affirm, our window is too tight, we're tracking multiple Covenant inbounds, too many. We need a diversion. Reset a second set of coordinates for escort units."

"Understand second evac site?" The Spartan pauses for what seems like an eternity.

"Negative evac site. Second coordinates to be set…at your discretion."

I pause for a moment. It isn't the morality of sending more Marines to die to cover our exit. I need to determine the best direction to send them to buy us the most time. "Roger sending second coordinates now." I don't realize that Corporal Liu is plugged into the com terminal as well.

"What does that mean, second site?"

I fix a glare at Liu. "Cut the chatter Marine just keep us driving."

"Rescue 2, this is Rescue 1, update on coordinates grid Tango 0881 Kilo 2410." The second Warthog gives a wordless acknowledgment as they peel away into the night. Our own Warthog begins to pitch toward the new coordinates as well. "Negative Liu stay on course."

"Sir?" Liu's question is cut short by the arrival of more Covenant vehicles. This time it seems like the end of the world bearing down. Through the haze and darkness I can make out a trio of Phantoms, flanked by Banshees. On the ground a Ghost races forward, plasma cannons flashing as its driver struggles to find a target. The erratic turn of the second Warthog freezes the Covies for a moment, unsure of which target to follow. One of the Phantoms pulls toward the second Warthog, only to erupt in flame as a missile from one of the Longswords slams into its side. Tracers from the second Longsword walk a line into one of the pursuing Ghosts, turning it into a fireball.

The Longswords loop back around setting up for another pass on the units pursuing the decoy. The Covies take the bait. They turn in force to pursue the second Warthog leaving us a clear path to the rendezvous. "Pedal down Liu!" The lead Longsword puts a final missile into another Phantom before a pack of Banshees bring it down in a hail of plasma bolts. As the Longsword begins its death spiral the pilot continues firing snapshots at targets on the ground, before turning into a flaming cartwheel.

I can't see the second Longsword or Warthog anymore. There's too much distance now between us. I can only make out flashes of plasma and tracers in the darkness. "Sierra-052 this is Rescue 1 we are 1 klick out; I say again 1 klick out."

"Roger that Rescue 1 Pelican is dirt side, expecting pick up in…" The transmission is interrupted by another fireball cutting through the night marking the death of the last Longsword. Hopefully the pilot took a few more Covies down with him. Without the top cover the last Warthog's time will be short. Half a click, it's going to be close.

Plasma from a Ghosts arcs out towards us. The wheel flies in Liu's hands, we all know how close we're cutting it. I see the rendezvous point ahead. The ground slopes down into a maze of tight winding canyons. Our Pelican is down there waiting for us. If we can just get down below the lip of the wall, the Ghosts won't have a shot. We're going to make it.

That's when the world explodes. Plasma fire slams into the rear of the Warthog, the vehicle pitches forward down the slope, tumbling end over end before skidding to a stop along the canyon floor.

When we come to a stop I know something's wrong. I'm upside down, lodged between the Warthog and the rocks of the canyon floor. I try to slide out from under the vehicle, but my left arm is limp at my side, dislocated I think. Oboho is still holding onto the turret somehow. His right leg is gone, shot off at the mid-thigh. Smoke trails from the cauterized stump, he seems barely conscious. A pair of hands grab me by the collar and pull me free of the Warthog, I feel something snap in my leg. I hear screaming. It's my own.

I can see Liu now, he's shouting into my face, but I can barely hear him; it's like I'm swimming underwater. "LT, where is the rendezvous? Where is the rendezvous?"

Speaking is a struggle. The canyon forks ahead of us into a maze of branches, through gasping breaths I mutter, "100 meters down canyon then east." Of course, the rendezvous is to the west, but in my condition I know I'm not getting there in time. I'll need another distraction.

"Can you walk?"

"No, no I can't. Leave me here I'll give you cover. Set me up by those rocks there, I'll buy you time." A storm of emotions pass over Liu's face, horror, pride, fear. It's like he can't decide how to react. He pauses for a moment, as if to say something, but any chance for final words is cut short by the sound of Covenant Ghosts and troopers. Wordlessly Liu lifts me up and carries me towards the rocks, my leg and arm are on fire. He sets me down behind them, pausing to help me prop my rifle in a crook in the rocks. "Give'em hell LT."

"Good luck Marine." Liu will need it.

Liu runs into the night. Along the edge of the canyon I can see the glow of Covenant vehicles. Through the radio I can hear my Spartan contact, "Rescue 1 what is your position?"

"I'm at the mouth of the canyon, Warthog is trashed and I'm immobile, require pick up. I have one wounded in the Hog. Second survivor is mobile, east bound, drawing Covies with him."

"Roger that, we're moving to you maintain your position."

As if I could move if I wanted to. I can hear the echoes of gunfire now farther up the canyon, the angry staccato of Liu's rifle fire answered by the crackle of Covenant plasma. The pain is so intense in my leg now, I feel like I'm drowning in it. I can't judge time, seconds crawl by like eternities. I'm losing a lot of blood.

From the darkness the Spartans appear, emerging from the mist like phantoms from a nightmare, impossibly silent for something that huge. I've only heard stories, and stories don't do the Spartans justice. The trio towers over the Marines flanking them, armored titans among mortals.

I try to speak, to call them over, but I can't force the words. The lead Spartan, bigger even than the others makes his way toward the rocks. He towers above me. An armored glove grasps my shoulder. "I've got him. Rescue 1, what's your status?"

Through gasps of air I manage squeeze out a few words about my shattered leg. A second Spartan moves toward the remains of the Warthog when the first Covenant soldier appears at the mouth of the canyon. A sharp burst of rifle fire saws the Jackal in half. Only to be replaced by another pair. Both Spartans are shooting now, followed by the Marines, but the Covenant force their way forward under a hail of bullets. Like a hydra, with each fallen Covenant soldier two more appear. Elites charge forward, their shields flickering and dying under withering fire from the Marines. Grunts stumble awkwardly down the canyon walls as Jackals leap from cover to cover picking away at their human targets. Even with the Spartans there are just too many. There are always too many.

I raise my rifle with my good arm and fire a burst into the crowd of Covies. The lead Spartan, has me over his shoulder now, carrying me like a child. We're falling back from the Warthog. I don't see Oboho anywhere. I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness. Between flashes of darkness I see snapshots of Marines and Spartans, gunfire and plasma. A quartet of needles lodge themselves into a Marine's chest and explode turning his torso to red mist. The advanced pass the overturned Warthog, when the turret roars to life. Elites and Grunts disintegrate under the fire from the turret, Oboho's last stand. But it's not enough. Plasma and needler rounds rake the Warthog. As final burst from the turret tears into a pack of Grunts an Elite leaps into the rear of the Warthog, its energy sword slashes into Oboho. Darkness takes over as I slip from conscious.

"She's coming too."

There's a line of IV tubes stuck in my arms. A can feel a dull ache from my leg. I try to sit up, but a hand rests gently on my chest. It's massive, encased in armor. Despite the gentle touch I can feel the inhuman strength in that hand. My eyes walk up the armored arm holding me back. With his free hand the Spartan reaches up, his finger glides over something beneath his helmeted chin and I hear a barely audible click and hiss. As the Spartan lifts his helmet I'm not sure what to expect. What does a superhuman look like? The face that towers above me is strange. His complexion is dark, with even darker eyes. The face is crisscrossed with scars and has the leathery, weathered look of someone aged before their time. But his eyes, those dark eyes, they seem to change in an instant from a harsh emotionless stare to a look of fatherly kindness. And yet, they remain sad, distant. They're not the eyes I would have imagined for a Spartan.

Through cracked lips I wheeze, "Sierra-052?"

"Yes, my name is Jorge. Lieutenant Cho?"

"Amanda," I mutter.

"Amanda, your condition is stable now. You've lost a lot of blood." I try to form a reply, but I can't find the words. I can feel myself beginning to slip again. There is a blur of motion to my side, another pair of hands placing a mask over my face.

"Shit we're losing her, give me some space. Move Spartan! I need an adrenaline shot." Darkness clouds around my vision. The last thing I see is the Spartan's eyes, those sad distant eyes.

I wake up in a new room, flooded by harsh artificial light. I can hear an electric chorus of beeps from machines. I'm not alone.

"She's coming around again."

"Very well thank you doctor. You may go now."

"She's still in critical condition. She certainly isn't ready for an interrogation."

"That was not a request. I will let you know when I am finished."

"Doctor Halsey I told you she is in no condition for…"

"You may leave of your own accord or I can have one of my Spartans carry you out. The choice is yours." A man in medical scrubs storms away. A heavy metal door slams shut behind him.

"Lieutenant Amanda Cho?" The voice is a woman's sharp and harsh.

"Yes." It feels like there's a weight on my chest pressing down. My leg itches. I try to scratch at it, but my arms are like lead at my sides.

"I apologize for being short with you Lieutenant but I fear time is of the essence. I need to know what Doctor Charkov told you."

"What?"

I can see the woman now, standing in the corner of the room, her face obscured in a shadow. "Doctor Charkov made contact with Colonel Harkin and his command staff shortly before the Covenant bombardment of New Harmony. You are the only surviving member of that staff. Thus you were brought to me, and at great expense I might add to the UNSC and the Office of Naval Intelligence."

Slowly my mind begins to clear, but speaking is a struggle, "Doctor Charkov?"

"Please, do you think I risked the lives of three of my Spartans for you alone?"

"We evacuated under Colonel Harkin's order in accordance with the Cole Protocol. Any officer with knowledge of Earth cannot be allowed to fall into enemy hands."

"A problem much easier solved with a few bullets from a pistol. Don't tell me you are so naïve Lieutenant. I did not risk my Spartans for you, nor did Colonel Harkin instruct you to trade the lives of your Marines to ensure your evacuation from the planet."

The itch in my leg is more intense, I try to reach my arm downward, but it is still too much effort. "The day of the bombardment we received a message from an ONI sight, from a man named Charkov. It wasn't coded, just sent in the open."

"And?"

"It was nothing, just a reference to construction at an ONI sight on Reach. An expansion to Sword Base. Doctor Charkov was requesting more resources."

The woman, Halsey walks forward now. She's such a small woman, yet she has something about her that pulls your attention, demands it. "I need to the exact content of that message."

"That was all there was, just a reference to an expansion under Sword Base. Doctor Charkov was requesting additional resources, excavation equipment. Big stuff, industrial. He said expansion on the site could have latchkey results for his work. We picked up lots of strange stuff at the end. Mostly just prerecorded messages getting dumped as the com net fell apart."

"Thank you Lieutenant. Although I must say I had hoped for something more. Thank you for your time." Without another word the woman, Halsey, walks to the door.

"Wait, is that it? That can't be all? Colonel Harkin told the staff we were a Priority Red Evac, for that? I ordered sixteen Marines to die down there."

"I'm afraid Colonel Harkin must have thought there was more to the message, it was an ONI transmission after all."

Without another word she disappears, the door locking behind her. With some struggle I manage to sit up in the bed. I look over my body, there must be a half dozen tubes plugged into me. The sheet sags unnaturally over my legs. The leg that had been shattered by the Warthog, is gone just above the knee. I sink back into the bed as the first tear traces down my cheek. I try to stop but I can't. I feel myself beginning to slip under again, I can't tell if it's exhaustion or medication or both. As the darkness falls I see their faces, Liu, Oboho, Ramirez, every Marine who died, who gave their lives to get me off planet. And all for nothing.

Alone in a darkened room, Doctor Catherine Halsey sat before a computer terminal, its screen cast a cold electric glow over the room drawing stark shadows over her face. A uniformed image stared back at her from the computer.

"That is correct Colonel Holland, the construction of Sword Base will proceed as originally planned."

"I don't understand ma'am, you were the one who cancelled construction. You said the base expansion wasn't worth the cost to ONI resources."

"New information has come to my attention Colonel. The construction will proceed. In fact I am in route to Reach now to oversee the dig personally."


End file.
